‘Ah.’ Elden’s gaze drifted over her head, becoming unfocused. ‘What did you find?’
She didn’t know whether Jude had shared the memory with Elden, but, like in the confessional, she couldn’t have stopped the words if she tried—‘A book. A memory was in it, somehow. Written in runes. I couldn’t read it, but I… I didn’t need to. It sucked me in. I saw the memory like I was there. It was of the day he was sent away from the Abbey. Sent here, I think.’
Elden’s face didn’t betray any emotion as he stared out into the wilds beyond. His chest rose and fell slowly. ‘Were there more books? With more memories?’
‘I think so. I don’t know.’ She weighed her words, debating whether to ask Elden some of the questions she longed to ask Jude. ‘What are they? The books.’
He didn’t reply for a long moment. Finally, he rubbed his brow. ‘They’re memories, as you said. A record of sorts. He keeps them stored in books. Puts them there. I don’t know how.’ He blinked once. Twice. ‘He doesn’t like anyone in his library.’
‘Maybe it’s to hide the books. The memories,’ Maeve said, thinking of how furious Jude was when he found her. ‘Somewhere only he can view them.’
A shiver coursed through Elden’s body. ‘Hide them – yes. That makes sense. Keep them safe.’
‘Safe,’ Maeve echoed. There was something odd in his expression, as though he searched for answers from her just as eagerly as she probed the truth from him. Perhaps Jude was in the habit of keeping secrets from everyone in his life.
‘Well. Anyway,’ she said. ‘It was disconcerting, to say the least. Jude thinks I’m the same as him. That the Abbey sent me away because of this… thismagic.’
Elden’s gaze shot back to hers. ‘And if they have?’
‘If the Abbey has sent me away? If they—’ she paused. The lump in her throat grew too large to ignore. She thought of Jude’s memory. His magic had hurt someone. ‘If they think this magic I have is dangerous and expelled me because of it, I don’t know what I’ll do.’
Other acolytes had disappeared over the years. Not many, but enough to send fragmented gossip through the limestone halls like ripples across a pond. The speculations around the disappearances were never very well formed. A sickness the saints didn’t want to cure. A wrongdoing so egregious the member couldn’t be allowed to remain. Sometimes, there were rumours of members running away. Those were always stamped out the quickest.
But never for magic. Never for golden dust and stolen memories.
‘Yes,’ Elden replied. ‘If the Abbey has cast you out, what then?’
‘I don’t know.’ Maeve tried to ignore the rapid pace of her pulse, the rising panic. ‘I was sent here to paint Jude. That hasn’t changed. I think… above all, that remains my priority. I’ll finish it and then… go back to the Abbey. If they don’t want me to stay, they can tell me.’
She sounded much braver than she felt, but Elden couldn’t see how her legs shook beneath the hem of her muddied dress.
Elden took a step closer. ‘If you were sent here, same as he was, maybe it’s best if you stay for now. Maybe that’s what the Abbey wants. You’re one of their own. And you need to finish his icon, as you said.’
‘Yes,’ Maeve breathed. Her fingers tightened around the strap of the bag hooked over her shoulder. ‘Yes.’
If she truly did hold the same magic Jude did, Ezra knew, and the Abbey had sent her anyway. Jude might have his own ideas about why they’d sent her, but she needed to trust what she had been told directly. She was to paint Jude, to spy on him, and then return to the Abbey. No matter how much she wanted to give in to the panic, to pack her things andrun– she still had a purpose here. A purpose she needed to unravel with the one man she wanted to avoid. Whether or not she decided to continue reporting on him… she needed the truth, and she needed it directly from Jude.
‘Go speak to him,’ Elden said quietly. ‘He might tell you more than you expect.’
Maeve nodded, blowing out a breath.
Elden gave her one final smile as Maeve moved towards the door. Questions still lingered, clinging like early-morning frost. They wouldn’t dissipate until the sun rose and light was shed – light only Jude could provide.
She buried the last of her panic too deep to reach for without effort, without pain, and left the room. Her footsteps echoed down the stairs.
Each step brought her closer to Jude.
To answers or to more lies, she wasn’t yet sure.
17
Jude
As soon as Jude heard the footsteps, he shoved his hand into the pocket of his jacket. Checked the letter was still there. Took a single, clarifying breath. He wouldn’t think of the other letter of hers he’d taken, tucked away safely in his library unread.
The door creaked open.
He kept his attention on the window, tracing the shape of the moors in the distance, feeling the weight of Maeve’s eyes press hot against his back. Blue and grey and devouring black. He closed his eyes for a single, unsteady heartbeat before turning to face her, taking her in like he was seeing her for the very first time.
